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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649418">Le Bien Qui Fait Mal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivy/pseuds/kivy'>kivy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blades Blood and Bucket-loads of Unresolved Sexual Tension, Enemies, M/M, Prince!George, assassin!dream, haha ballroom dances w the enemy go brrr, i gave dream long hair, i have the power to give dream long hair so you know what i did w that power?, royal au, who may or may not have a thing for each other but its a secret so shh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:14:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28649418</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kivy/pseuds/kivy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>If suffering is beauty</i>
    <br/>
    <i>Succumb to its charm</i>
    <br/>
    <i>And offer your tears</i>
    <br/>
  </p>
</blockquote><br/>It’s a funny little game that they play. George will throw a ball in the hopes that Dream will attend. Dream will attend in the hopes of finally killing George. The stakes are high - but George and Dream revel in the fear of almost falling.<p>or,</p><p>George is a bored prince. Dream is a bored assassin. Together, their entertainment will make for one hell of a ball.</p><p> </p><p>(Inspired by the song Le Bien Qui Fait Mal from the Mozart L'Opera Rock musical.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1299</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>
  <b>CW // blood, knives/daggers, minor nsfw implications, and mentions of killing (via dialogue) - nothing too graphic, but please be aware!</b>
</p><p> </p><p>as per the summary, this fic is inspired by Le Bien Qui Fait Mal, a song from the musical Mozart L’Opera Rock - check out the song and its translation in <a href="https://youtu.be/EY-NmfAyyP4">this video that i spent more time on than the actual fic lmao</a></p><p>(also i speedran this fic in like an hour bc my brain decided to Activate all of a sudden so if you could pls ignore any mistakes that would be very pogchamp ty).<br/></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing Prince George sees when he wakes up is a jade dagger above his head.</p><p>It sits, embedded in his velvet headboard, shimmering with allure and lethality.</p><p><em>Just like its owner, </em> George thinks as he pulls the dagger out.</p><p>When he sits up and blinks away the tiredness of the night, he is met with a rather expectant sight. Across his bedroom quarters, on his open balcony, stands none other than the notorious<em> Jade Assassin</em>: a name that travels through the streets of his kingdom on hushed lips and trembling hearts.</p><p>A fitting trademark for the name, the assassin is dressed in his familiar sage cape, and has made himself comfortable on George's railing, idly combing through his long ponytail with another one of those viridescent daggers of his. George hums at the sight; admires the shimmer of blonde hair and the flawless skin of his side-profile.</p><p><em>He lives rather luxuriously, </em> George thinks, <em> for an assassin</em>. </p><p>“You missed,” the prince says, despite knowing fully well that the dagger above - as opposed to <em>in </em> - his head had been on purpose. (The collection of jade daggers accumulated in his personal arsenal says enough about the assassin’s… <em> intentions. </em>)</p><p>The Jade Assassin - otherwise known as <em> Dream </em>in exclusively the hidden alleyways and ephemeral shadows of Prince George’s kingdom - smirks, not bothering to look over. "Good morning, Your Highness,” he greets. “It’s a beautiful day out."</p><p>“Quite." An elegant yawn escapes George's lips. “Though I would have liked to wake up when the sun had risen.”</p><p>Dream gestures to the kingdom outside George’s balcony, stretching beyond. Along the horizon, the sun makes its rays known in a gradient of orange and purple. “It has.”</p><p>George rolls his eyes. “In any case, I’ll admit that having you as a wakeup call is much better than the bell.”</p><p>"Oh, you flatter me."</p><p>"Flattery well deserved, is it not? After all, you <em> did </em>go through the trouble of sneaking past my guards to climb up into my quarters."</p><p>"What, like it's difficult?”</p><p>Rather than testing them, George dives into the waters. "It's a rather smitten act. Especially for someone who supposedly hates me.”</p><p>For the first time in the entire exchange, Dream looks over and meets George’s gaze head-on. With the grace of a dancer, the assassin points his dagger at his dear prince. “Be glad you didn't wake up to my blade against that pretty throat of yours."</p><p>George raises a brow, running his porcelain fingers against the dagger in his hand. They both watch in silence as George swipes, ever so slightly, and produces a small nick of blood from his index finger. "I should be glad I even woke up at all,” he rebukes, words oozing sarcasm.</p><p>"It’s reassuring to know you're aware."</p><p>George finally gets out of bed, tossing Dream’s dagger across the room with the agility and precision of a man who has spent his life taking combat lessons. </p><p>Dream easily catches the blade next to his face, a low whistle escaping his lips. “<em>You missed, </em>” he teases.</p><p>George takes a moment to scoff, before stretching his body out into the air like a cat and not-so-subtly showcasing his shirtless body to the man perched on his balcony. (If he’s going to be stared at, he might as well put on a show, no?)</p><p>At the sight, Dream hums his approval - though George has no need for it.</p><p>With an extravagant twirl to remind Dream of the things he is forbidden to have, George fetches his translucent blue robe and pulls it on himself, making sure it falls off his shoulders enough to show <em>just </em>the right amount of bare skin.</p><p>He makes it five paces across the expansive bedroom before Dream interrupts: "<em>Ah-ah-ah </em>," he warns with a sing-song voice, making no effort to hide the way his eyes rove across George’s body. "You'd better keep your distance if you know what's good for you, Your Highness."</p><p>George stones his feet against the carpet in the centre of his room - between his bed and his assassin. Raising a brow, he crosses his arms against his chest and lets Dream enjoy the display of lean muscles. "<em>What's good for me?</em> And what right, pray tell, do you have in lecturing me?"</p><p>Dream ignores the question in lieu of angling the blade in his hands to reflect a ray from the barely arisen sun onto George's body - more specifically, onto the curve of his left shoulder, which proudly displays the mark of the royal family on his skin. "You’re being unusually defenceless today,” the assassin comments.</p><p>George plays with the feathers on the ends of his flowy sleeves, making no comment to the way Dream's spotlight travels across his limbs. "Forgive a man for feeling a little adventurous."</p><p>The assassin chuckles, sounding more amused than humoured. "Tread cautiously, Your Highness. You don't want your murder to be in the sun's wake, do you?" He plays with a strand of blonde hair as he watches the prince grin.</p><p>"You imply I have an ideal way to be murdered by you."</p><p>"There's a reason all your balls take place in the moonlight."</p><p>George hums, inspecting his perfect nails. “It seems you don’t lack intelligence.”</p><p>"Thank you for acknowledging a fact that has already been established."</p><p>"Not enough intelligence to take the chance to kill me right here, though?" George teases, smirking when Dream’s eyes run over his body yet again.</p><p>"Intelligent enough not to be fooled by your words," Dream answers. "No matter how tempting they may be," he adds.</p><p><em> Tempting, hm? </em>George takes advantage of the gaze, much like he always does, and drapes himself across his bed. Naturally, he lets his robe fall and pool around him, exposing his torso to the open air. </p><p>He can hear Dream suck in a breath. "That's an awful lot of skin you've got bare, Your Highness."</p><p>"Indeed,” George smiles. “What a shame it would be if a dagger were to puncture it."</p><p>When he is given no response, George shifts up to lean up on his elbows. Across the room, Dream has changed his position from leaning on the railing, to a fixed posture and crossed arms, staring into George’s eyes with fierce darkness.</p><p>It's a riveting sight to see.</p><p>George stares in quiet curiosity at the scars that litter Dream’s muscles and calloused hands. He stares as those hands flip that jade dagger in playfulness. Stares as he imagines what it would feel like to have those hands take the breath out of his princely lungs; that dagger take the blood from his royal veins; those intense eyes stare into his as the world around him turns to void.</p><p><em> Would it feel gratifying? </em> he wonders, though he knows his curiosity shan't be quenched. (Like he would let <em> the assassin </em>win.)</p><p>"This was quite an invigorating way to wake up. I suppose I should thank you."</p><p>Dream’s lip quirks upward at his prince's words. "Glad to be of service, Your Highness."</p><p>George responds to Dream’s sarcasm in kind: "Always such a pleasure to see you first thing in the morning."</p><p>The atmosphere is cracked by the sound of heavy bells coming from the kingdom cathedral, signalling the start of the day. Dozens of feet below them, yet still loud enough to break their stupor, the prince and the assassin share a familiar gaze at the bell.</p><p>The day has started.</p><p>And thus has their game.</p><p>The assassin inhales a deep breath, never taking his eyes off of the prince before him.</p><p>A feast, laid right in front of him, ripe for the taking - yet forbidden in more ways than he can count. </p><p>There is nowhere for him to move. He’d be an idiot to try.</p><p>It is a tortuously clever move on the prince’s part. </p><p>George offers a smile, relishing in the glory of victory in this morning's game. "I'll see you tonight, then."</p><p>A huff of laughter fall out of Dream before he steps onto the balcony railings. "As His Royal Highness commands," he says, balancing on the railing’s edge with elegance as he bows to his prince. "Save a dance for me."</p><p>"Always."</p><p>With adrenaline filling his lungs, the assassin grins.</p><p>And then lets his body fall backward. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>↢🜲↣</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The night has been long - and Prince George is getting bored.</p><p>Don’t misunderstand, though. He’s being properly entertained. The dancing, the music, the conversations, the glitz and glamour of one of the prince’s legendary balls. He’s been enjoying it as much as he can.</p><p>But there is something missing.</p><p>A certain <em> someone </em>missing.</p><p>Truth be told, despite the severe lack of a charismatic criminal on the loose, George is as spoilt as can be. The company is delightful, and the view is spectacular, and the white fabric of the throne beneath his royal ass is comfortable, sure, but <em> oh, </em>what he wouldn’t give for a certain jewel-associated assassin to come and taint said white fabric in a show of George’s princely blood.</p><p>Looking past the ocean of people on the marble before him, George sighs from the elevated dais. Through the pristine glass dome ceiling above, the prince fixes his eyes on the rising full moon - brilliant, bold, and as bewitching as anything could be.</p><p>A voice interrupts George’s brooding with a, “Your Highness.”</p><p>George looks over, chin leaning on his knuckles, at the knight who has shuffled up next to his throne. “Yes?”</p><p>“There is a man requesting to see you, Your Highness. He refused to give me his name, but assured that you would know him.”</p><p>The prince smirks.<em> Took him long enough. </em></p><p>“You have no need to meet with him, Your Highness,” the knight carries on, “but I thought I should let you know-”</p><p>“Thank you, Sir,” George interrupts. “You’re dismissed.” He stands up from his seat, giving a small nod to the few eyes down below who have caught sight of his movement. Making a show of dusting off his speckless white suit, he steps past the knight with grace and puts on a performance...</p><p>Of walking down the staircase.</p><p>(The eyes trained on his life have made for an awful habit of having to do everything as extravagantly as possible. Not that he's complaining.) </p><p>At the bottom of the staircase, waiting on polished marble, Prince George’s gaze is countered by the one and only Dream.</p><p>He’s wearing a classic black and white suit, it seems - with the exception of his tie, in the hue of his trademark sage. The suit hugs his curves and accentuates his features in the best way possible, and George finds himself wondering where in the nine rings of Hell an assassin could attain such a thing.</p><p>He throws a signature grin George’s way, white teeth dazzling.</p><p>George would love to see what those teeth would look like splattered across the prison floor.</p><p>"I’m glad you could make it, Cornelius,” he says, greeting Dream with a royally perfect smile.</p><p>"<em>Cornelius</em>." Dream tests how the alias feels on his tongue. "You always create such interesting names for me."</p><p>"Only the best."</p><p>"Your benevolence is admirable, Your Highness." </p><p>A wave of satisfaction fills George from his toes to his crown as he watches Dream take his hand, bow, and lay a kiss on his knuckles. Dream’s long blonde hair, no longer constricted in the ponytail it was in this morning, cascades down his shoulders. </p><p>George feels an itch - an itch to take the blade hidden against the back of his thigh and swipe it across Dream’s hair. The curiosity of what the assassin’s reaction would be could eat George up inside.</p><p>When the assassin pulls away, he takes a moment to inspect the ring on George’s index finger - already healed, despite the puncture this morning. A simple platinum ring. Incredibly simple, in comparison to the jewellery George had in his collection. <em>This </em>ring, however, is much more important to the night than any of those. In its centre, framed by delicate platinum leaves, is a pendant made of-</p><p>“Jade.” Dream runs a careful thumb over the jewel, smiling up at his prince. “Well,” he says, “that’s one way of showing your obedience.”</p><p>George scoffs, though he leaves his hand in Dream’s gloved one. “I wouldn’t obey you even in those late-night fantasies of yours.”</p><p>Dream chuckles, tightening his grip on George’s hand and standing up to his full height. “Now.” He tilts his head, gazing down. “About that dance…”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>↢🜲↣</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Dancing with George has become an unironic skill of Dream’s, over the years.</p><p>He’s made an astounding improvement compared to the first few times he had challenged George to a ball dance - from struggling to keep up with the prince’s steps, to now creating his own, Dream lets himself feel proud at stringing George along the marble floor.</p><p>The prince’s face stares up at him, glowing in the moonlight, and Dream raises a brow when George lifts a hand to his face.</p><p>“You know, Cornelius,” the prince starts, tucking a strand of Dream’s long hair behind his ear, “one of these days, I’ll have run out of names to give you.”</p><p>“Is that so?” Dream smirks, pulling George’s body closer to his under the guise of ballroom dancing. “Admitting weaknesses, are we?”</p><p>“It’s not necessarily a weakness; though, you are free to view it as one.”</p><p>“What else would it be, then?”</p><p>“An excuse.”</p><p>“An excuse?”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>A playful smirk. “An excuse for what, might I ask?”</p><p>George lets Dream lead their bodies across the ballroom in time with the orchestra’s notes, thankful that he doesn’t have to lead for once. “Perhaps,” he shrugs one shoulder, “should the stock run out, you would give me… <em> your </em>name?”</p><p>Dream chuckles, dimples on display. Using the momentum to his advantage, he throws George out into a twirl, hoping to catch the prince off-guard.</p><p>Of course, he fails to do so - for not only did George rule the kingdom, but he also ruled the ballroom floor. He even accumulates a few claps of admiration from his little show.</p><p>When he spins back into Dream’s arms, the assassin leans down from behind George’s body and grins against his nape. “A valiant effort, Your Highness. But an unsuccessful one.”</p><p>George tilts his head, giving Dream full view of his bare neck. “Unsuccessful, you say? Shame.”</p><p>Dream sucks in a breath at the sight. The prince knows the game well. An unguarded royal neck. A ballroom full of witnesses. The odds against Dream. “And who, exactly, is it bringing shame to?”</p><p>“Well, I’d quite like to say… <em> you.</em>”</p><p>George is thrown for another spin as a response, this time landing chest-to-chest with Dream, who has yet to lose his devilish smile. “I’d enjoy your elaboration on that.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure you would.” George smirks.</p><p>The orchestra begins another tune, this one more sensual than the last. It encourages Dream to tighten his grip on George’s waist; the gloved hand making George’s skin burn like the logs of fire on the eastern wall of the room.</p><p>In response, George snakes his hand from Dream’s shoulder to his neck, hiding his hand behind locks of gold. Dream’s eyes narrow at the action. The prince leans in; leans closer; presses their bodies together so close that one wrong step in their waltz would lead to tabloids screaming about the prince’s new scandal.</p><p>“I look forward to the day I bind you by name,” he whispers against Dream’s lips, igniting a flame and basking in the smoke. ”You would look beautiful on your knees.” Those soft fingers tug on the strands of Dream’s nape, jolting his head up slightly. “<em>Even more so if it were for me.</em>”</p><p>The prince’s fingers go slack at the feeling of a thumb pressing into his hip. Not enough to be painful, he notes. But enough to draw attention to it. When he speaks, Dream continues on with the volume George has set. “I’m afraid you’re wrong there, Your Highness.” He inches forward, lips just barely brushing against George’s ear, and murmurs, “We both know <em> you </em>would be the one to follow commands.”</p><p>George less-than-subtly pulls Dream’s face away from his via another pull on golden hair, and gives Dream a half-smile. “You’ve quite the imagination, Sir Cornelius.”</p><p>“<em>'Sir’</em>, hm?” Dream raises a brow. “I quite like the sound of that.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>↢🜲↣</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When the moon reaches its peak in the sky, the prince and assassin sneak away from the ball and into the royal gardens.</p><p>It is not often they do this - but when they do, George basks in the excitement of careful footsteps and hushed movements and promises of something the palace could never live up to.</p><p>He won’t admit to a lot of things, but this is not one of them. He admits that he is in love with the adrenaline of hiding from guards and waltzing in the shadows - it gives him more euphoria than a crown or a throne ever will.</p><p>It is half the reason he continues this ongoing chase with his assassin.</p><p>“It never ceases to amaze me,” George says as they wind through the garden maze, “that you can freely attend a royal ball with no repercussions.”</p><p>Dream is doing an irritatingly exemplary imitation of the way Prince George walks - hands behind back, spine straighter than the kingdom will ever believe George to be, chin up, eyes forward - when he laughs. “I shall take that as a compliment.”</p><p>“How grand it must be to receive a compliment from a prince on how well you assassinate.”</p><p>“How grand it must be,” Dream quotes, “to be the only person in the kingdom to have seen the Jade Assassin’s face - and live to tell the tale.”</p><p>George shoots Dream a side-eyed look, and Dream smiles down at him. “It’s a wonder you haven’t slit my throat yet.”</p><p>Dream shrugs. “Why would a child destroy their favourite toy?"</p><p>They round the corner, and find the garden’s marble fountain. Underneath the moonlight, the water shimmers with luminescence. It falls gracefully from the orb of water at the top, and George understands why the court staff have been talking about a temptation to drink from the fountain in search of beauty.</p><p>He moves to take a leisurely seat on the marble bench of the fountain, but is halted when Dream grabs his wrist.</p><p>He has just barely turned around before Dream is pulling him in, bodies pressed together with unflattering proximity. Assuming their position from the ballroom, George can’t help but laugh as Dream retraces steps without music.</p><p>A few steps in, and George recognises the dance. It had been from their first time on the ballroom floor together; except this time, <em> Dream </em>is the one leading.</p><p>George isn’t one to argue.</p><p>And so, the prince and assassin glide across the pavement by the moonlit fountain; their music being splashing water, chirping crickets, and soft breaths. It would be easy for George to lose himself in the suspicious peace; easy to forget he is in the arms of a murderer, and simply enjoy the night air.</p><p>But Dream has other plans.</p><p>Whipping the prince around on the pavement, Dream creates a new rhythm for this dance of theirs. It forces George to twirl and spin on the balls of his feet; to tighten his grip on Dream’s outstretched hand. It is a whirlwind of spontaneity, and if George could concentrate, he would use the focus to spit on Dream’s face.</p><p>It ends as abruptly as it started - and before he knows what’s happening, George’s royal ass is landing on a cold marble bench. Cunning as a fox, Dream traps George’s body against one of the fountain’s marble pillars, and holds a broad hand against the prince’s throat.</p><p>When the dust settles, and the only thing remaining is adrenaline, Dream can feel George’s throat vibrate as the prince laughs.</p><p>“Well?” he asks. “Come on then. <em>Do it.</em>”</p><p>“I could,” Dream hums. “But I won’t.”</p><p>George scoffs. “And why not? Everything is in place. The isolation; the moonlight; the silence.” George swallows, letting his throat bob against Dream’s palm. “This would be perfect for the both of us.”</p><p>“Hah. Indeed.” Dream’s grip tightens - again, not enough to harm, but enough for George to wipe the stupid smirk off his face for at least a second. “However, I’m not entirely in the mood tonight.”</p><p>George can’t help but laugh. “‘<em>In the mood’</em>?” he quotes, perfect teeth gleaming in the night. “And here I was, thinking you were deserving of your ruthless reputation.” </p><p>Dream’s grip on George’s neck grows tighter by the second, and when it feels like it’s finally dipping its toe into the waters of ‘too much’, George decides to push it <em>even further.</em></p><p>“You’re a weak man,” he taunts, soft lips housing a grin.</p><p>“Almost as weak as you,” Dream replies with his own.</p><p>The prince huffs a gentle laugh, hyper-aware of Dream’s face inching closer to his own. “So you admit it.”</p><p>“And what, exactly, am I admitting?” Dream asks, voice getting softer by the syllable.</p><p>“You are weak for me.”</p><p>“I am weak for no one, Your Highness. You are not the exception.”</p><p>“I don’t believe you.”</p><p>“And what would it take to change your mind?”</p><p>George hums. Risks a glance from Dream’s eyes to his lips.</p><p>He takes note of the way Dream does the same.</p><p>“A kiss, perhaps?”</p><p>The silence of the night forces them to listen to their joint heartbeats; the quickening paces of the pair. If it were one, there would be a loss. But here - <em> now </em>- it is both. They have reached their stalemate, the only way to win being a forced forfeit.</p><p>(But why force a loss… when you can just as easily give in for a win?)</p><p>George is conscious of Dream’s gloved hand against his vulnerable neck and of Dream’s unwavering gaze piercing into his when the assassin moves closer. He is conscious of the marble beneath him, the water behind him, and the heartbeats in his ears.</p><p>An involuntary sigh escapes his lips when the hand against his neck releases in its hold in lieu of moving to his nape, caressing it with a touch so soft it almost makes George forget the hand it belongs to is covered with the blood of hundreds.</p><p>With their lips only a breath apart, Dream murmurs, “My sincerest apologies, Your Highness."</p><p>A sharp pain stabs through George’s left shoulder. When he looks over, it is his own dagger that is embedded in his arm. Red blooms onto the white fabric, tainting it with royal blood.</p><p>Dream smiles. “But I don’t romance <em>royals. </em>”</p><p>He lays a quick peck onto George’s neck before pulling the dagger out and stepping away, staring down at his prince. George remains on the marble, pressing a hand against his shoulder in an attempt to stop the blood from making a mess of his fountain. “Aiming for the Royal Mark...” He chuckles, watching Dream pull off his gloves. “Trying to send a message, are you?”</p><p>Dream glides his now-bare finger across George’s blade, collecting the prince’s blood. “If I wanted to send a message,” he says, wiping that very same finger across his bottom lip, “It would be accompanied by your head on a spike.”</p><p>George tilts his head. “And the rest of my body?”</p><p>“That’s for the gods and I to know.”</p><p>At his words, the pain of George’s shoulder teeters onto the edge of unbearable. His left arm has gone completely slack; he dares not move a single muscle, lest it pull the trigger on a world of pain. Through eyes squinted due to agony, George looks up at Dream and grins. “I look forward to seeing you try.”</p><p>“As you always do,” Dream laughs as he pulls out a handkerchief and wipes the dagger in his hand. “Thank you for this new dagger, by the way.” He holds it up against the moon, and inspects it like a blacksmith admiring his most recent work.</p><p>“Something to remember me by,” George jokes. “Feel free to use it as source material for your sleepless nights.”</p><p>“I’ve no need for such things,” Dream replies as he runs a careful finger across the amethyst stone on the handle - a marking of the royal arsenal. “Not when you have already made yourself at home in my head.”</p><p>George laughs softly, clenching his teeth together in unspoken misery. “It’s good to know I occupy your mind as much as you do mine,” he pushes out.</p><p>At that, Dream moves his attention from the dagger to its owner, and smirks. Snaking closer, he holds George’s jaw between slender fingers and pushes his chin up, forcing the prince to bite down on his lip to avoid giving Dream the satisfaction of his screaming.</p><p>The assassin prods open George’s lips with his thumb, eyes sparkling in the way George allows it.</p><p><em>He looks so beautiful, </em> Dream thinks, <em> when he's under my control.</em></p><p>He runs his thumb across unblemished lips, and raises a curious brow at the sight of George’s eyes fluttering, ever so slightly.</p><p>Dream leans down, meeting George nose-to-nose, and the prince can feel Dream’s breath against his face; can taste the particles of his own blood swiped atop Dream's lip, as he whispers: "Greet me with a kiss at the next ball, Your Highness."</p><p>George smiles against Dream’s thumb. Despite the pain, he opens his mouth and traps Dream’s thumb between his teeth. The action triggers something in Dream, and George savours the dark look in his eyes. He knows Dream wants to go further. He damn well knows Dream would implode if he so much as swiped his tongue across Dream’s calloused skin.</p><p>But he can’t let him win that many times in one night.</p><p>He releases Dream’s thumb - much to the latter’s irritation - and hums. "I can't promise anything."</p><p>Dream’s lip quirks at the words, and he stands up to his full height, inhaling the midnight air on the way up. His eyes remain dark as they pin George down, finally removing his hand from the prince’s chin.</p><p>With a final smirk and a satirical bow, the alluring Jade Assassin flips the blade in his hand and makes his exit. A sigh releases from George’s lungs as he watches that silky blonde hair disappear behind the bushes.</p><p>And when he is left alone, the prince looks up at the sky - at the twinkling stars, and the luminous moon. Basking in the moonlight and the steady-flowing blood from his own veins, he grins.</p><p>
  <em> Guess I'd better start planning that next ball. </em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p><b>(if you feel that this story has content that may be insensitive but has not been mentioned in the CW at the top, please let me know so i can add it into the beginning notes. thank you in advance!)</b> </p><p> <br/>hello hello :D</p><p>i hope you liked my trial into this weird banter-teasing dynamic lol. along with trying said dynamic, i also wanted to try out a writing style that is somewhat dialogue-driven, just to see how it ended up. i think both turned out pretty decent :) let me know what you think! i'd love some feedback ♡</p><p>find me on <a href="https://twitter.com/kivy_">twitter</a> (@kivy_) if you want to talk about random things and/or simply gain a new friend lol</p><p>that'll be all for now, folks!</p><p>until next time :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Le Bien Qui Fait Mal 2: Electric Boogaloo!<br/>(bad joke but please forgive me for it, it's 3am and im lacking so much sleep rn)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so it turns out peer pressure works! who knew? (/lh)</p><p>in any case, there were quite a lot of comments asking about a continuation, and they got me thinking. and we all know what happens when I start thinking. that's right - chaos.</p><p>and so, by the power vested in me, fueled by cold brew coffee and pure spite at this point, I bring to you... this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first thing that registers in Prince George’s mind is <em>pain. </em></p><p>It is what wakes him up; eyes popping open and muscles spasming in response. When the cloudiness finally leaves his vision, the prince is left staring at an irritatingly familiar cocky face. “Good morning, Your Highness,” the Jade Assassin greets, not seemingly paying any mind to the fact that he is pressing a hand onto the raw stab wound of George’s thigh - caused by <em>him </em>the night before.</p><p>He has gotten more confident over the months, this assassin. From keeping his distance to greeting George in the morning whilst in his very own bedsheets, it seems he has started to throw caution to the wind. </p><p>That scarred hand of his presses down harder, and George grips his sheets in an effort not to yell. “It’s a lovely morning,” Dream says.</p><p>“<em>Hands off,</em>” George pushes out.</p><p>Dream simply laughs. (His voice has gotten huskier again, George notices. He supposes that’s thanks to the passing days.) “Come now, Your Highness,” he says, pushing his weight onto George’s thigh below him. George bites down on his lip from the pain that shoots through his muscles. “If you really wanted me to stop, we both know you would make me.”</p><p>The proximity with which the prince has with his assassin leaves prickles on George’s skin. Strands of blond fall around his face as he stares up. Dream’s hair has grown longer - he now wears it in a braided bun. George wonders where he gets his hair-styling skills from. (Surely not an assassin guild.)</p><p>George is keenly aware of the fact that the wound on his leg is bleeding through his bandages. Dream glances down, and a wave of relief washes over the prince when he takes his hand off.</p><p>The relief is short-lived.</p><p>Dream, ever curious, runs his fingers across George’s body, and George curses himself for going to sleep in only a pair of shorts.</p><p>The assassin traces over his prince’s body, circling the scars that now litter what once was flawless skin. He grins at the sight of it; at the sight of his marks. “It’s unfortunate you’re not perfect anymore,” he teases, pressing a finger on George’s left shoulder; the Royal Mark on it; the scar that breaks the Royal Mark in the middle.</p><p>“What a shame,” George mumbles, rolling his eyes. </p><p>Dream’s answer is a low hum that makes George’s stomach stir.</p><p>They stay like this for a while. For God knows how long.</p><p>Winter draws the darkness into the room despite the time, the sun hiding beneath the horizon and forcing George to focus on the glint of the green eyes above him. The silence of the air brings the sounds of their heartbeats to light.</p><p>It is almost intimate.</p><p>It is almost…<em> welcome. </em></p><p>The bell rings.</p><p>On cue, Dream breaks out of his unusual stupor and fetches a dagger from his side. The bell is still ringing by the time his blade is pushed against the supple skin of George's neck.</p><p>Dream’s grin falters when he sees George smirk and lick his lips. To the sounds of the kingdom bell, George whispers, “<em>Checkmate.</em>”</p><p>The feeling of cold royal steel pricks Dream’s nape. In the split second it took him to retrieve and position his dagger, George had managed to retrieve and position his own - and Dream can't help but laugh. "You've improved," he says.</p><p>"And <em>you </em>have become soft," George replies. </p><p>Their blades stay in the positions as Dream raises a brow.</p><p>George’s throat bobs against jade. "What happened to the man who craved to take my life with his own hands?” he asks, eyes unwavering in their gaze. “What happened to the man who haunted me with words of my blood on the ballroom floor? What happened to the man who stole my breath and promised my head on a spike?"</p><p>The prince’s words are cut off by Dream’s free hand covering his mouth, not at all subtly pushing his head down into the blade beneath. “He’s right here, Your Highness,” Dream snarls. “How would you like those to become a reality?”</p><p>His bedroom is quiet enough for them both to hear George’s words with crystal clarity: “Very much so, <em>Cornelius</em>.” There was that name again. Ever since that night by the fountain, George had never created a new one. Dream was now known as Cornelius - and there wasn't much to complain about regarding it. “Your promises are as empty as your heart.”</p><p>“Thank you for thinking I have one.”</p><p>Dream can tell George is smiling in the way that his eyes turn to crescents.</p><p>“The day has started, my dear.” George chuckles. “Surely you’re not foolish enough to stay.”</p><p>“You would enjoy it if I did.”</p><p>“I would enjoy seeing you in chains when you are caught, yes.”</p><p>“You have a fondness for chains, do you?”</p><p>There is a stutter in Dream’s attitude when he feels his prince lay a kiss on his palm, but he dares not to jump back - into George’s dagger behind him. Beneath Dream’s hold, George’s smile grows wider. “And what if I do?”</p><p>The assassin trapping his body lets a bark of laughter escape. A glance to the doorway and a charismatic smirk later, Dream is snaking his body away from his prince - just managing to escape the blade on his neck.</p><p>Swift as ever, George watches Dream’s sage cape fly across his room and atop his balcony railing. With a salute - no longer a bow - Dream falls backward. He has a strange habit of doing that.</p><p>Alone in his room, George finds he almost misses the feeling of his assassin above him.</p><p>He blames his feelings on the lack of bloodshed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>↢🜲↣</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next morning, when he lands on George’s railing and finds the prince already on the balcony, staring out into the dark dusk sky, the assassin is not surprised.</p><p>After their encounter yesterday morning, it had been quite eventful - with the main event being the death of the reigning king.</p><p>The death of George’s father.</p><p>“Well,” Dream says, hopping off the railing and landing next to George with the grace and silence of a cat.</p><p>To the movement, the prince does not react.</p><p>“Good riddance.”</p><p>To <em>that, </em>the prince does.</p><p>He laughs.</p><p>His father is dead, and he laughs.</p><p>Dream really reckons George is sometimes too much of a sadist for his own good. The reaction is justified, however. At least in both George’s and Dream’s views. (Funny, how the thing they can agree on is the death of the king.)</p><p>George sighs, pulling his robe taught around his limbs. It seems the cold of winter succeeds in making its monarch shiver. “Good riddance,” he repeats, nodding.</p><p>The assassin’s fingers twitch for movement - but instead of for a dagger, it is an urge to take his cape off and lay it across George’s shoulders. He fights that urge - and wins. “And how do you feel?” he asks.</p><p>“Overjoyed.”</p><p>“About being king,” Dream clarifies.</p><p>“Oh,” George breathes out. Fog escapes his mouth and, somehow, it is as perfect as he is. “Yes, I suppose that’s commendable too.”</p><p>“Just commendable?”</p><p>The not-yet-king-in-name prince snorts - holding an unusual amount of grace in it. “I’ve been the one ruling for years, Cornelius.” He holds a hand out before him, watching his kingdom slumber between his slender fingers. “This simply means I’ll finally have the title.”</p><p>Dream hums, moving past George and into the bedroom like it is his own. George barely blinks an eye. “I do hope this doesn’t mean the number of balls you hold decreases,” he says, making himself comfortable on the bed.</p><p>“Oh, please.” George rolls his eyes, a small smile on his face.</p><p>If an outsider walked in and didn’t know any better, they would think it merely a conversation between companions. And George is very aware of that fact when he closes his balcony doors behind him and meanders over to Dream with practised indifference.</p><p>“If anything,” he says, playing with his robe sleeves, “it will increase. There’s no one to stop me, after all.”</p><p>Dream chuckles, letting his body fall back onto the sheets. He is comfortable in this bedroom. <em> Too </em>comfortable. “Your staff must hold all the patience in the world, Your Highness.”</p><p>“Your Majesty,” George corrects. “You will refer to me as ‘Your Majesty’ from now on.”</p><p>The assassin on his bed raises a brow at the glint in the royal’s eye, before his chest rises and falls with laughter. “Well then, <em> Your Majesty, </em>” he draws out as he sits up. “Your recent kingship has raised a question.”</p><p>“Mhm,” George answers. He’s gotten used to Dream’s obsession with being vague. “Do go on.”</p><p>Dream grins up at George - a nice change for the prince, given their heights. “What ever shall I do about my promise to you yesterday?” White teeth gleam in the dusk lighting. “I do remember a few words about chains or other.”</p><p>A hum. “I’d like to see you try and complete it. You’re hardly a man of your word.”</p><p>“Complete it?” Dream laughs. “I would be charged with treason, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Like that ever stopped you before.”</p><p>Dream is methodical in his movements when he braces his elbows on his thighs, looking up at his new king under long lashes. They both grin, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air between them.</p><p>“I look forward to seeing more of you, Cornelius.”</p><p>“You make it sound like we’re promising ourselves to each other, Your Majesty,” Dream teases, though his mind is already planning a multitude of new ways to play around with his king.</p><p>A sickenly sweet smile is his answer.</p><p>When the bell rings, Dream almost curses it.</p><p>This game of theirs is treading into the waters of ‘too much’.</p><p>But this time, they will <em> both </em>push it further.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>↢🜲↣</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>George has a plan.</p><p>And Dream is definitely not going to like it.</p><p>(That is an added bonus.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>↢🜲↣</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He should have seen this coming.</p><p><em> Fuck, </em>he really should have seen this coming.</p><p>How could he end up like this? He’s bringing shame to his entire existence by being here.</p><p>Waking up in a cell is one thing.</p><p>Waking up on his knees with his limbs constrained is another.</p><p>All these years of being unattainable. All these years of always being one step ahead. All these years of being notorious for his great achievements…</p><p>And Dream threw it all away just because of a stupid, pretty face.</p><p>A stupid, pretty, <em> royal </em>face, at that.</p><p>If he wasn’t restrained in his movements, Dream would slap himself multiple times over. It would add a delightful spike of pain to the already ongoing migraine he has.</p><p>“Good morning,” a voice greets. Dream lifts his heavy head to look at the man entering his cell. “It’s a beautiful day out,” King George grins.</p><p>Dream scoffs. “I would believe you if I could see it, Your Majesty.”</p><p>George laughs at that. Really - he laughs. It is genuine. Dream hates that it is genuine. He wants to escape into the open, perhaps only to breathe in the air again. The chandelier above him is his only source of light in this cell, and it almost calls Dream a fool to his face.</p><p>“I assume you were getting tired of our little game, then?” Dream asks with his hoarse voice, ignoring the pain of his weight on his knees. “I suppose it was fun while it lasted.”</p><p>George hums that lilted little laugh of his, and approaches Dream with a sword in-hand. “It was,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t say I got tired of it, though.”</p><p>From where he stands, he grazes the tip of his sword across Dream’s forehead, pushing away stray strands of hair. A strange sight to see from the assassin - his hair less than immaculate.</p><p>“I admit,” he starts, sword tracing the planes of Dream’s face gently enough not to harm. “I didn’t think my plan would work. I had high hopes, of course, but I never would have guessed you would fall for it.”</p><p>“Yes, well <em> I </em>never would have guessed you lathered your own hand with poison for me to kiss,” Dream spits back. “I was suspicious of it the moment you suggested we meet in the gardens instead of the ballroom.”</p><p>“And yet you fell.”</p><p>“The things we humans do for love, right?”</p><p>The sarcasm motivates George enough to stir. He rounds Dream, stepping over chains with grace. “The things we do for love,” he repeats. “Would you believe me if I agreed?”</p><p>“Not without proof, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“This is proof enough.”</p><p>“Ah yes, capturing your beloved and putting them in prison. Your sense of romance is as enviable as ever.”</p><p>His cockiness is halted when George takes a hold of his long hair and pulls. Dream looks up at his king looming over him from the side, taking note of the way George’s eyes seem to enjoy the view. “This is my private base,” the king says blankly, like Dream was supposed to know. (Well. Perhaps the chandelier should have been the first clue.) “You have not been captured.”</p><p>Dream could take this chance to be thankful. To sob and grovel and thank George for his kindness.</p><p>But where’s the fun in that?</p><p>“When I mentioned your fondness for chains, Your Majesty, I wasn’t aware I was the only one being humorous.”</p><p>“You are not aware of a lot of things, Cornelius.”</p><p>His words have barely made it to Dream’s ears when George finally commits what he has been longing to do for the Lord knows how long. The tautness of Dream’s hair is finally released - and Dream almost falls forward due to it.</p><p>It happens too fast to comprehend; Dream has to whip his head around to see the aftermath.</p><p>And there, flowing from his king’s tightened fist, is a thick tail of Dream’s silky blonde hair. In his other hand, raised from momentum, is the sword.</p><p>A second is how long it takes for Dream to compose himself. Instead of being shocked, Dream simply shakes his head and gets used to the lack of weight on his scalp, sending a dashing smile George’s way.</p><p>George hums, face blank. He drops the hair on the floor to worry about later, only to round Dream again and look down on him again. The assassin has the audacity to smile when George lifts his sword and presses it against the bottom of his chin, forcing Dream’s head to tilt up; forcing Dream to look up at his king.</p><p>“<em>I knew you would look beautiful on your knees</em>,” he croons - and by a thousand miracles untold, it manages to send a shiver down the spine of the legendary Jade Assassin.</p><p>The assassin dares to pry. “What will you do with me now?”</p><p>“What would you <em> like </em>me to do?”</p><p>“That’s a risky question, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Forgive a man for feeling a little…” He traces Dream’s jaw with the long blade, face going dark with an emotion Dream could very easily mistake as lust. “<em> Adventurous. </em>”</p><p>Dream smiles at the quote from weeks past. “I’d like to continue our game, Your Majesty. It was quite entertaining for me.”</p><p>He watches George’s eyes turn into crescents again, and loathes that he is satisfied with it. “Then it’s a shame we won’t be able to.”</p><p>Dream resists the urge to tug on his restraints when George lifts the sword to in-between his eyes. He is forced to watch steel gleam in his view as he kneels before his king. George thinks it’s admirable that Dream’s face remains as neutral as ever. The vanity is gone, and has been replaced by a heart awaiting its demise.</p><p>Emotionless. Cold. Empty.</p><p>Perhaps he would be like that until death.</p><p>George can’t wait to find out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>↢🜲↣</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>King George’s heel clicks against the marble floor, and he is delighted to be back home.</p><p>Ever since his coronation, he has had years of practice at these democratic meetings with kingdoms over yonder - and yet he never seems to be able to leave one without an aching head and a worried heart.</p><p>It is here - walking through the halls of his palace, granting a nod of acknowledgment to his staff - that George feels at ease. He is home, and things are perfect. The only thing missing would be-</p><p>“Your Majesty!” interrupts a voice. George is forced to drop his thoughts and put on a royal smile. When he turns to the source, it is one of the kitchen servants. “Welcome back,” she greets. “And good evening.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“The chefs are making preparations for your meal, Your Majesty. Do you have a preference of where you eat today?”</p><p>“Ah…” George ponders on that. He glances at the open palace entryway, at the purple sky and awakening moon. It bathes him with sentimentality. “The fountain,” he answers. “The garden fountain.”</p><p>“Understood, Your Majesty.” The servant nods. “And that meal will include your knight as well, I presume?” she adds with a friendly giggle.</p><p>“Yes,” George chuckles. His staff have gotten used to his antics. “As always.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>↢🜲↣</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It is a marvel that the fountain has remained as pristine as ever, despite the years.</p><p>George supposes that is in thanks to the groundskeeper, but a part of him likes to believe in the wonders of the fountain.</p><p>When the king arrives with a tray set for a meal of two - simple, as per George’s preference - he sits on the marble benches and waits a total of one second before he digs in.</p><p>He is unsurprised when a voice interrupts his sip of tea.</p><p>“Good evening, Your Majesty,” his personal knight greets, appearing from behind the bushes and strolling up to George with that uptight posture of his.</p><p>“A good evening indeed, now that you’ve decided to arrive.”</p><p>A huff of laughter. “How was your visit to the North?”</p><p>“Mediocre as ever. The only good thing about them is the cushions on their meeting room chairs.”</p><p>His knight chuckles, taking a seat next to his king. The metal of his armour clanks and clangs on the way down, and George is thankful that he was born with access to a royal wardrobe.</p><p>The arising night welcomes in an atmosphere of comfort, and George tilts his head to look up at the moon peeking its head above the garden bushes. He drowns in sentimentality once again, and welcomes it with open arms.</p><p>Almost a decade has passed since that fateful night. There are constant reminders of it. On his body; in his mind; with the sound of the water fountain behind him now.</p><p>“You know, Sir,” he starts. His knight does not turn to look, but George knows he is listening. “I’m feeling awfully nostalgic tonight.”</p><p>He watches in silence as his knight reaches up, pulls his helmet off, runs an armoured hand through short light-brown hair, and sigh into the night air. George lets his eyes trace the side-profile before him, and soon enough, his gaze is met by one of green.</p><p>It is a face that George is intimately familiar with. It is a face that houses a large scar, running from the left cheek to the right temple - a scar caused by George’s very own sword. It is a face that belongs to King George.</p><p>That face spreads into a grin. “Somehow,” the knight drawls, “I feel the same.” There is a gleam in his eye - a matching set with his smile. “Though I can’t possibly know why.”</p><p>Despite being the one to provoke it, George rolls his eyes at the banter. “No need to be shy, Sir Cornelius. You can admit that night was a memorable one.”</p><p>Dream’s heart, as always, stutters at his name falling out of his king's lips. The time of being known as the ‘Jade Assassin’ has long since past - ‘Dream’ even more so. And with no name left to go by, Dream supposed it seemed fitting he use the one gifted to him by his prince.</p><p>When George spoke of binding all those hundreds of moons ago, Dream never thought it would actually become true. But he is no longer one to complain. </p><p>"Indeed," he agrees, grazing a finger across George’s clothed left shoulder. Across the scar underneath. And not-so-much to George's surprise, his knight presses down - <em> hard. </em></p><p>It ignites a familiar sting of pain; a reminder of their past. The pain is welcome, in George's eyes. And Dream is very aware of that. <em> Very aware</em>.</p><p>With his free hand, he takes out the royal sword on his hip, arm working in practised elegance. The steel gleams in the rising moonlight, as Dream flexes his wrist and presses the handle into George's thigh.</p><p>A whine threatens to escape George’s lips, but he contains it in the name of his dignity.</p><p>Dream's smile grows bigger at that, and George swears the jade jewel embedded in the sword’s handle smiles back at him, too.</p><p>"I'm curious, Your Majesty," Dream says, applying pressure onto both spots of contact. </p><p>George glares at him through squinted eyes. If his hands weren't preoccupied with gripping the marble beneath him in a hold so tight it's beginning to hurt, George would strangle the man. "<em> Of what? </em>"</p><p>There seems to be a particular something about this marble fountain that convinces Dream to always lean into George.</p><p>And there is something about the way George's laboured breaths fall on his face that makes Dream lean in <em> closer. </em></p><p>"You’ve kept all but one of your promises," he murmurs, noticing the stutter George's furrowed brows have.</p><p>"And what, <em> pray tell</em>, could that be?"</p><p>"There have been dozens of balls since that night, Your Majesty. Dare I say hundreds.” He chuckles, low and husky and affecting his king in the way he knows how to wield. "And yet…"</p><p>"And yet?"</p><p>Dream hums. "You never did greet me with a kiss."</p><p>A whirlwind later, and the dinner tray is clanging against the pavement, food long forgotten. </p><p>George's spine lays on the marble, limbs trapped underneath Dream's.</p><p>The position is more familiar to George than he'd like to admit.</p><p>Nose to nose, forehead to forehead. Blond strands of hair, now significantly shorter yet still silky as ever, brushing against his; lips in such close proximity to his he can almost taste his own blood from hundreds of nights past.</p><p>And just like the last time, it is Dream who is teasing.</p><p>But this time, George isn’t sure it is just… <em> teasing. </em></p><p>With their lips only a breath apart, King George slides his soft hand between their faces, blocking Dream’s lips.</p><p>From over his fingers, he sees his knight’s brow furrow. George smirks against his knuckles. "I thought you didn't romance <em>royals, </em>" he teases. </p><p>Dream laughs, though he makes no effort to move away. "I suppose I'll just have to take away your kingship, then," he shrugs.</p><p>It sounds like humour, but the glint in Dream's eyes tells George an entirely different story. “And how do you suppose you’ll succeed in doing that?”</p><p>“Perhaps an assassination, Your Majesty.” A grin. “Perhaps an elopement.”</p><p>George chooses not to admit aloud how tempting he finds that second option to be. The king kisses his own knuckles and watches in amusement when his knight's eyes darken.</p><p>Under the bright moon and its stars, accompanied by the music of splashing water, chirping crickets, and soft breaths, George hums.</p><p>“I look forward to seeing you try."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>[the end.]</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yeah so I most definitely just gave George a pain and maybe a bondage kink here i am so sorry. I don't know what possessed me to write it but it's there and it exists. I just choose to ignore it. </p><p>i feel like this sequel wasnt as sexual-tension-y as the original fic so uh. sorry for that :/</p><p>I'm hoping this gives enough closure for yall so i don't have to make a chapter three lmao <b>- edit: this is the last chapter. there will be no continuation of this fic. please stop asking, thank you :) </b></p><p>until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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